If Clint Norris Was Real
by redhouseclan
Summary: I'm just a girl, looking for a guy. Kidding. I'm a loner. Why? People thought I was crazy. I tried to warn the masses of the zombies, but they wouldn't listen. So here I am living underground until I stumble upon survivors one by one trying to get by. Why does this guy have a Mad Max bat? Who is Curly's baby mama? Why does No Sleeves look familiar?
1. Prologue

After the Outbreak, when the whole world shut down for the first and final time I was a few hundred feet underground. I remember eating a Snack Pack and keeping both eyes on the monitor overlooking an empty overgrown meadow.

My radio system was tuned in to scan all channels, I heard nothing but screams and carnage.

For exactly one minute there was silence.

Not one filled with static or white noise, just absolute silence. The minute where we realized that living turned into surviving.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Now you are probably wondering why I was hiding underground, why I was eating pudding like there was no tomorrow.

It's simple, there was no tomorrow. At least not for half the world.

I did warn people, I honestly tried. I had a podcast, a website, and a popular Facebook page. I even wrecked an Ellen show to let the people know, earning myself a restraining order and a lifetime ban from live television. No one believed me. Until the last red-hot second.

My accounts were flooded with views, comments, and pleas. I answered as many as I could, as fast as I could. I was only one person, it's not as if I was made of hands.

How did I discover the terror behind the pop cult hit of the zombie apocalypse? Is that what you're asking? Let me tell you a little something about 'wrong place, wrong time'.


	2. Chapter 1- Splat Goes the Zombie

Cruising down a forgotten backroad from Florida to Georgia was a beat up old '56 Chevy the color of pigeon poop. She wasn't pretty to look with at but she was something underneath the hood.

Almost all original parts or close to it. It may have cost a few full paychecks, an empty stomach a time or two, and a few lucky hands of poker but Susan was worth it.

Cranking down the driver's side window with bruised knuckles sat a 'woman of disreputable proportions', according to Nick from Singer and Sons., Towing Company. From her disheveled waves to her tattered shoes and snarky attitude she was a devil woman.

That is, if you are Nick Singer, Jr., the self-titled ladies' man and harasser of women in the podunk Floridan town of Misery, where some idiot back in the day thought it'd be hilarious to name a town in Florida after an established state. Due to the inbred fool's lack of intelligence, Missouri became Misery. Which isn't a misnomer after all.

Back in that exact podunk town sat Nick, who was nursing a broken nose and a dislocated shoulder while his father looks on with a dark scowl at an empty headed son and an empty register.

Now don't get me wrong, I know stealing is bad, before you get to cursing my name and praying for my soul I'll tell you that I only took what was owed. You may or may not feel sorry for poor old Nick Sr. but he was sexist, not to mention a tad bit racist. Like any other person of his repute, he was cheap as hell.

Back on that gravelly, pot-hole covered road was a twenty-one year old me, Zia Faraday. Blasé as heck in the ways of life for an aged-out foster kid from New Mexico.

As sob stories go, mine is pretty tame. Dumped at a social worker's house outside of Roswell with no name. I guess someone got fed up with that and slapped me with the name Abernathy Marie. Try growing up with that gut-puncher of a name.

A few homes I learned to be loved, to be forgotten, to be bruised and broken, to know that some people aren't worth saving. Those that are, you hang onto them as long as you can.

Once I hit eighteen and got my diploma, I hightailed it and never looked back. Changing my name was a piece of cake once I met up with a Craigslister who sold fake legit looking information for eighty bucks . A little bit of home and access to the nerdy side of Google I became Zia Faraday.

A woman on her way to hot and spicy Atlanta to get Susan her new paint job in the color Frosty Pine. A metallic forest green with black detailing on the side, worth around eight hundred dollars including labor. A discount from my previous foster brother José, who runs his own shop.

Daydreaming about Susan's makeover and the beloved reunion of family I failed to see a discombobulated man in the road.

Splat!

Black guts and grey bone cover the entire front of my baby. I break immediately, nearly giving myself whiplash to look in the review mirror when I see a lump of something twitch. My shaking hand pulls open the door latch, when the smell finally hit me. Gagging, I cover my nose.

That nasty pile of oozing gunk held the scent of death, made worse by the summer sun practically baking it. Feeling lightheaded and weak kneed I plop down beside my truck. My lunch decided to make a comeback worthy of a Gore Award as I spot drops of dead goo litter my shirt sleeve. My adrenaline fueled blood making me jittery as fuck.

I sat there on that deserted road for a few hours, the mid-afternoon blue sky slowly turning to a pink sunset. The body, what's left of it, finally stopped twitching. Not a soul came by. Not knowing what to do or if I should call someone. Because what could I say?

'Sorry I think I ran over a dead man?!? Send help!' That'd go over well, the nearest town was four hours away.

No, what I did was flat out dumb. Like running into the clutches of evil dumb. It's in our nature as humans to be curious. How else are things invented? By taking that curiosity and doing something stupid with it. Such as creating zombies. Or going to look for them.

Scrambling to get up I hop back into Susan shifting to first, parking under a low hanging willow tree on the side of the road. Covering her with scraps of brush I take off in the direction the zombie came from.

How did I know it was a zombie? I spent the majority of my childhood sneaking into horror movies at the theatre. I know a zombie when I see someone staggering, reeking of death, and gnashing it's teeth. It wasn't a tweaked out meth-head, those guys just get back up and run, this guy was actually deceased. As in 'RIP', six feet under, 'hasta la vista' dead.

Fetching the crowbar and flashlight from behind the seat I scan the area for stragglers. These things always travel in packs. Thick brush and low branches fill my vision. Not a sound was made, no bird calls, no wildlife, or wind blew. It was silent.

Three minutes in I spot a trail of broken twigs and disturbed underbrush of leaves and dirt heading deeper into the patch of woods. Keeping my senses on high alert I make my way to a fenced-in area half a mile from my truck. It was at least ten acres of fencing guarding a rundown warehouse with an oddly neat gravel road leading out.

Purple hues light up the evening sky, showing me just how long I have left until complete darkness. Crouching low I make my way towards a hole dug up under the fence. Bits of cloth and strips of flesh dangle from the barbs. Nail marks scour the rich brown earth covered in blood. Tufts of grey fur are snagged on thorny bushes leading out to the main road. I guess that's how it got out. A little snack made it spaz out of its hidey-hole.

Carefully stepping around the scene I hear an alarm blare from loudspeakers at each corner of the fence. Throwing myself into the bushes I spot three groups of black and white clad figures flow from inside the warehouse to come to a halt once the reached the outside. The alarm ceases to sound, when a commanding voice cuts through the air belonging to a bulky, bald headed figure.

"Listen up! Subject Z2-09 has escaped. Apparently in the midst of disposing of the asset, someone forgot to fully terminate and secure it." Mr. Walker Texas Ranger drawls out. "Lt. Stevens," at this a lanky redhead startles, pale faced and wide eyed, "you're a liability." Quick as a flash a single gunshot is fired. I gasp into my hands, heart pounding wildly. I notice that no one else moves or screams.

"Let this be a lesson for those of you who deem it necessary to screw up! Lt. Stevens failed to mention he was bitten, putting us at risk of exposure and contamination. Hence his elimination." At that moment floodlights bathe the area in white light. Illuminating the pooling blood at Lt. Stevens head. I barely make out his prone figure as I back away as quickly as I can, hearing the tail end of "search and destroy."


	3. Off Duty Hottie

Chapter 2

I arrive back at the truck out of breath and covered in a thin layer of grime. Tossing the crowbar and flashlight onto the seat I rush to throw Susan into gear. Keeping my lights low, I make a U-turn back to the highway thirty minutes away.

Not a moment later as I pull into traffic my phone rings, scaring the crap out of me.

"José? What's up?" I breathe out, eyes flickering back and forth from each mirror searching for I don't know what.

"What's up? Chica, you were supposed to be here this morning. We made tamales, guacamole, and everything." I can picture him being forced to help make tamales by Ares, his wife and business partner.

"Did something happen?" A pause. "Did you get arrested? Need me to bail you out?"

That was a loaded question. "Nah, I just overslept, you know how creepy those roadside rest stops are. I didn't get arrested, geez! It was one time!" I mentally facepalm, rolling my eyes. "No te preocupes. Wait. Por qué tienes esa cara?" I question. The longer we talk the safer I feel.

A sigh crackles over the phone. "José I can feel your RBF from here." I joke.

He chuckles," My what? The hell is a RBF?"

"A resting bitch face, chillon. I've faced it too many times to count to know that what comes after I need to bring a peace offering. I'm two hours out of Atlanta. You know me, I can't read a map to save my life."

"Ha! Last thing I remember is that you were the crybaby. Make it two Rocky Roads and one Chunky Monkey, Ares is having cravings, again."

I almost forgot that they were expecting. If there is one thing I know it's that my brother will always take care of his own.

Seeing nothing following me, I ease up on the gas.

"Great, your kid'll be as big as you. God, he'll be the cutest thing ever. Hopefully he takes after Ares, I've seen your baby picture you were a funky looking baby!" Laughing, I lean over to open the glove box listening to José grumble in my ear, when a huge white flash lights up the sky followed by a loud boom. Triggering the few vehicles on the road to swerve everywhere at once as a mini shock wave hits us.

Swearing, I drop the phone, narrowly missing the car in front of me. Pumping the breaks on Susan I pull off to the side of the road like most people. José is still on the line speaking rapidly. Just as I grab my cellphone from the floor a loud knock hits my window.

Startled, I see a largely built curly haired man gesture to talk outside, his brown eyes meet my hazel ones in concern and confusion.

"José, I'm fine. I'll fill you in later," I huff, "you won't believe it. See you in a bit. Bye." I hang up before his frantic Spanglish reminds me of our mother.

Stowing my phone in my back pocket, I lay my head on the steering wheel flexing my fingers on its sides. Once I'm relaxed as can be, I open my door and jump out.

Mr. Curly has disappeared, giving me a chance to stretch and see the wavering smoke and flames in the distance.

Across the highway are strewn vehicles parked at odd, jerky angles. Just what I needed, a traffic jam. Drivers and passengers alike are communing with one another about the explosion.

On my left side, parked behind Susan, I spot the mystery man inside his truck calming down his dog. Closing my door, I trudge through the weeds to return the gesture.

This well-thought out plan causes the dog to bark from his seat. Giving the German Shepard a quick pat on the head, he climbs out to stand next to me. Wearing a blue flannel shirt and dark Wrangler jeans, he towers over me.

Adjusting to the difference in height, my 5'6" to his 6'2", I step back to angle my neck to speak.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" I say, twisting my fingers through my belt loops.

His gaze casually skims over me from my tangled waves, to my dirty grey t-shirt and jeans, down to the tattered pair of sneakers.

"Are you alright?" he asks in a slow southern drawl. One hand reached for his jaw, scratching at his stubble. "It's just that I was right behind you when this—whatever this is, happened. I also caught a glimpse of your truck's front-end. How'd that happen?"

At my questioning look, he continues, " I don't mean to pry, but my mama raised me a gentleman. She'd kill me if I ever left a lady in need. Especially in a time like now."

Slack-jawed, because the only time I'm referred to as a lady is when the shit has hit the fan.

Relief and laughter color my words, "Oh! That. We'll there are j-just so so many... bugs out tonight! I might have hit them all!" He lets out a low laugh, pleased with my bad lying skills I quickly change the subject when I ask about his dog.

"She's alright, a little spooked but who isn't? Ol' Nora will be right as rain once we're home." Giving a click of his tongue, Nora sticks her head out the window with her tongue lolling out. He scratches behind her ear, with a small nudge on my back he gestures for me to pet her. "She likes attention, this one. Only girl in my life willing to stick around with my schedule."

He gives me a nod. Lifting my hand slowly, I let her give it a sniff. I'm met with approval with a huge lick to the face. Laughing I give Nora one last scratch on her scruff before I move back.

Before I get the chance to introduce myself, loud screeching sirens burst from the end of the traffic jam. Driving through the median, the emergency vehicles slowly make their way past us towards the fire.

"I wonder what happened?" He questions, his eyes trailing after the blinding lights. "Might of been an exploding oil rig or gas line, probably. Something big to cause an explosion like that."

"Yeah, something big," I mutter. Thinking back to Lt. Stevens and the walking corpse.

"It's a good thing I'm off-duty," he says quietly, gazing back at me he introduces himself, " I'm Shane Walsh." Holding out his hand, I clasp it into my smaller one.

"Zia Faraday."

Smiling at each other, I spot a glint of something on his belt, hidden behind his loose flannel shirt. "What exactly do you do, Mr. Walsh?"

Shane gives me a smirk, crinkling his eyes. Puffing out his chest, he unclips something from his belt and hold it out towards me, "Well Ms. Faraday, I'm a cop."


	4. Chapter 3-Lifetime Nightmares

Chapter 3

"I'm a cop."

Those three little words echo in my head. Along with realizing how heavy those badges actually are.

At that moment I felt my heart skip a beat. It hurt feeling my body rebooting so fast my heart literally stopped for a second.

Seeing the pained look on my face Shane's gleeful smirk turns into concern.

"You alright?" His hand hovers about my shoulder.

I nod, rubbing my sternum, "Must of hit the steering wheel." He nods in agreement, one laced with a hint of suspicion. Darn his cop instincts.

"Must of." Shaking his head Shane sees a few vehicles climbing back onto the road. "Well I'm gonna head out once this clears a bit more, nothing worse than a pile up. You?"

"Same, don't wanna be caught in traffic twice. I'm off to Atlanta for a few weeks. What about you and Nora? You two going fishing?" I recall the fishing gear in the back of his truck.

Shane gives me a grin, "Already did, just heading home now. Got us enough fish for a fry tomorrow. Me and a few friends are having a party, feel like coming?" His voice lowers and one look in his eyes tells me he's used to getting his way.

"Hypothetically speaking, if I were to say 'yes', where is this party located?" I hook my fingers in my belt loops. Shane straightens up and putting his hands in his pockets as his shoulders hunch forwards.

"Well, by my calculations, Kings County is only less than an hour drive from big ol' Altanta. We got beer and a pool." He hints.

At the words beer and pool my New Mexican heart pounds and my eyes widen. "A pool?!" I squeak, I tip toe forwards almost loosing my balance when Shane grabs my shoulders setting my back in place.

With a laugh that crinkles his eyes, he teases, "A pool is all I need to entice ya, huh? Where're ya from?"

"New Mexico, tiny town in the desert. Ain't that big but Roswell is known for its share of aliens. Plus, pools are practically a callin card for us desert dwellers." I joke, which actually isn't that far from the truth. I can count the number of times I've been in an actual pool on one hand. Tarping up the back of a truck doesn't count.

That's pretty far from here. I'm a Georgia boy. Born and bred. What brings you all the way out here?" He asks.

"Headed up this way from Florida. Going to visit my brother to get this baby painted." I point to Susan. "After? I don't know yet. Probably get a place somewhere." Yeah right, I think, knowing what I know now I'm gonna get ready for when the shit hits the fan.

"Oh really? That sounds nice, where are you thinking about stayin?" As fun as a guy Shane is, I think he's lonely. One night stands can only get you so far. Not that he doesn't not seem like a ladies' man, but who am I to judge? He could be a saint or one of those weirdoes who has two families in different states.

I'm not going to marry the guy. But the curls, the breadth of the man's chest? OMG the genes this guy has.

I can certainly look that's for sure.

"Umm...not really sure yet. Somewhere in Georgia for sure. I love the greenery, the peaches, and Six-Flags! Though I could go without the humidity, my hair gets so wild." He points to his hair, "I gotcha."

We both crack up bonding over our wild hair. We're so lame.

When the laughter subsides, we turn to see Nora playing with her squeaky duck toy.

"Oh my Glob, she's so adorable!" I gush, my hands squishing my cheeks together. Shane looks back at me and snorts, "You're both adorable." I blush while he laughs.

"Oh, nothing is more adorable than animals, Shane. I mean if I had a kid I'd still find a puppy to be cuter. I'm biased like that." I reason, making him laugh even more.

"Man," he wheezes, "I ain't had a reason to laugh like that in a while." Holding his side, he tilts his head back inhaling deeply and returns his gaze to my face. "So I'm gonna give you my number in case you decide to come tomorrow. No pressure, just some food and a little fun." I nod, he gestures for my phone and I hand over my beat-up iphone which looks less like a brick and more like a lego in his hand.

"I added my address in the notes," he says, gazing around at the nearly empty road, "text me if you're coming so I can save you and Susan a space in the lot. Party's at five pm. If you want you can bring your brother." Whoa. Bring José? To a party? Does he want the cops, his bros, to show up even more? Not that he's a criminal, he's like Dionysus on speed. Heck a birthday party for a five-year-old can turn into a rave if José turns up.

"Sure I'll let you know in the morning, around nine?" He smiles in agreement, making me smile. Oh lord, I'm so easy that a nice smile, a deep voice, and that chest turn me into a brainless idiot. That cop spiel could be fake, the badge coulda been picked up in a Goodwill. Could the party be code for 'satanic worshippers hold massive orgy and sacrifice virgin idiot'? Guess I got some Google-ing to do once I hit Atlanta.

"Traffic's gone down, guess we'll head out. Night, Zia, drive safe! Hopefully we'll see you tomorrow!" Shane gives me a small 'bro-hug', you know the one where you both stand shoulder to shoulder and have the one-arm hug that lasts a millisecond. Nora lets out a small yip, so cute, and once the truck rumbles he signals for me to go ahead to make sure I make it safely on the road.

Shane honks his horn in goodbye. I sigh and let out an 'Aaahh!' because I got my first number from a gorgeous man. Who needs to be Googled immediately to verify his status of cop and not serial killer. Curse you Lifetime channel for my doubt.

-xxxxxxxxxxxxxx-

I pull into José's driveway of his two-story house at three in the morning. I would have dubbed him a studio apartment kind of guy but with his expanding family the suburbs suits them.

Walking up to the door with my duffle bag, I see a light still on through the frosted glass window of the door. Before I can knock the door swings open and I'm pulled into a bear hug that cracks my spine and squished my lungs. My nose is assaulted with the aroma of chili, masa, and meat, causing my stomach to growl. The faint scent of motor oil and lemongrass soap lets me relax in the grip of my brother.

I should have known that he was working in the garage, ever since we were small he always found something to build or fix when he was worried or stressed. My late appearance must have upped his older brother instincts into overdrive.

"You loser, you're finally here? What kept you?" He asked, slapping my shoulder.

I rub my shoulder, José doesn't know his own strength sometimes. Poor Ares.

"Well..."

-xxxxxxxxxxxxx-

 **Thanks for the follows and favs! Hugs! I love reviews, so be a pal and pop one on the screen! I don't really want to cast Zia because I love imagining the character's look on my own. But José is played by Michael Pena because he is awesome!**

 **Selfish promos: check out my other works especially my Avengers Fic because I'm hoping to update Thursday or Friday. My Hobbit Fic by Monday. I finally got a job but have to bike 8 miles to work and home. They totes are like 'get a DL and a car as soon as you can',** **like that's not realistic by any standards for a broke college grad who're only paying 10/hr and taking massive tax.**

 **Read and Review!!! Thanks!**


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